Noodling
Welcome to my random musings about the world, on a weekly-to-occasional basis.
Where we are: I wrote this last week while we were still in Shanghai, but we’re currently in Chengdu (the capital of Sichuan province). The food here is ma-la spicy, the pandas are adorable, and now we’re both down and out with a nasty cold.
Noodling
A friend of mine posted a meme on Instagram about how great it would be if women had a place to get a tune-up—like taking a car in for regular maintenance. You’d check in for the day, slip into a cozy waffle robe, and take care of everything: pap smear, mammogram, mole check, blood work, eye exam, all the things. In between appointments, there’d be coffee, snacks, and zero responsibilities, except figuring out what your personal engine needs to keep running smoothly.
I love the idea. But what I’ve got instead is a DIY version of that fantasy, minus the waffle robe and spa vibes. Every year during our US visits, I cram all my routine health care (plus anything new that crops up) into two short weeks. It’s not exactly relaxing—more a test of endurance—but it gets the job done. Mostly.
The rest of the year, though? It’s all on me. If something comes up, I can message my Duke doctors through the portal, or I can roll the dice with a local doctor and wade through the inevitable bureaucratic and communication hurdles. But for the most part, I have to take responsibility for my own health.
And let me tell you, that’s no small feat in midlife. My moment of reckoning hit this past August, when my bloodwork made it crystal clear: changes needed to happen. Immediately. I left the US armed with a continuous glucose monitor, a pile of new prescriptions, and a plan to lift heavier weights at the gym.
Now I’m in Shanghai, and let’s just say developing new habits while your environment flips upside down every few weeks is … a challenge. Every time I figure out how to work the machines in the gym, we hop on a flight and I have to start over in a completely different gym.
When we booked our flight to Shanghai last December, I immediately started fantasizing about dumplings and noodles. Eleven months of eager anticipation later, I finally arrived, only to have the glucose monitor on my arm telling me those dumplings and noodles are not invited to the party. And I am some kind of cranky about it.
Back in Raleigh, my cardiologist suggested I “try the Mediterranean diet.” Have you ever tried to Mediterranean-diet your way through Chinese cuisine? It’s like going to Italy and insisting on eating tacos. I’m eating lots of salads—which limits us to Western restaurants—but it’s the dumplings and noodles that call to me.
Still, I’m trying. I’m going to the gym. I’m wearing sunscreen. I’m skipping the dumplings. Because I know that no once-a-year health tune-up, no matter how efficient, is going to carry me through the rest of my life. That’s up to me. I want my body to keep wandering around this world for as long as possible, and that means making the hard choices. Even when there are noodles everywhere I look.
Take care,
Lisa
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